Scars
by JunKing
Summary: Based on my Untold Tekken Story series. After a suicide attempt, Peter reflects on the things that he never shared with anyone; namely his true feelings towards his deceased parents and his relationship with them. Takes place during Untold 3-era.
1. Scars

**Author's Note:** _I decided to give this one-shot an M rating due to intense thematic material, graphic language, suicide, and violence. I also wanted to dedicate this to Thunderxtw and Sage Pagan. Thunderxtw supported my decision to write this and Sage Pagan inspired me with her emotionally intense style of writing. Thanks guys._

I lay on the ground in a puddle of my own blood. The cold air brushes across my beaten body, as if it were taunting me right now….

I want to die and I want to die so badly. But for some reason, I'm alive. I'm alive and I've been alive for the past two years. My parents are dead and they're never coming back.

"Why?" I just want to know why. Why the fuck did this have to happen to me? Why me?? My life was already fucked up enough before all of this. The moon shines down upon me for a brief second before hiding itself back behind the clouds. Man, if only I could hide away in shame like that. But…I can't. There is nothing to do but give in. Give in to this pain, to this woe, to this fucking suffering.

But you know what? I still don't see the point in death. I still don't see the point in life. Both have fucked me over more times than I can count, so now who do I give in to? Can someone please tell me what the lesser of two evils is right now? No answer. There's no answer because I'm alone. I'm here, dying on the floor and no one is around to save me; not this time.

Who would want to save me now? I'm just a burden, just a fucking dead-weight on everybody around me. I smile and joke, but inside, the fire never stops burning. I need it to stop, but there's nothing that can satisfy this flame. It just keeps on fucking burning inside me and I can barely stand the pain. When you say hello, I smile and say it back. But in my mind, I'm ready to just break down and cry.

…

What is there to cry about though? I just thought about it, what is there to really cry about anymore? My body is tainted with impurity, covered in scars, and now bathed in my fresh wounds. I look over and see the blade that I used to do this to myself. It gleams with the flicker of moonlight. It's smiling at me, beckoning me to call upon it just one last time. It wants to comfort me like no one else ever could. If I had enough energy, I'd just reach over for it and dig it deep inside my heart. It would take me, rip away my sorrow. It would whisper to me and tell me that it's going to be okay and that soon, nothing would bother me anymore.

But that bastard…it told me that many times before, and never, not once did it ever make my problems go away.

'Deeper. You have to let me in deeper.', it tells me. How much deeper do I have to go? I have no soul, I'm just a vessel for anger and lament. My heart is hollow and my mind is overflowing with pressure. I just want it all to stop. Please, God help me…I know I turned my back on you before, but I need you now. No one else can understand what my heart feels or doesn't feel anymore. I need your love, because no one else is giving it to me.

But again…there is no answer. God, will you not come to my rescue just this once? Please?? He doesn't answer me still. So I gather my energy into my voice and tell him what I told everybody else that ignored me when I needed them the most: "Fuck you. Fuck you, you selfish bastard!" I groan in pain as my stomach seems to twist in knots now. I say all this now but when I pass on, I'll again look for him to guide me through the dark, lonely crevice that is my own mind.

I look down to my arms and legs. They are torn apart. I used every bit of anger and resentment and took it out on myself. Mom…dad…there's something that I want you to know. I think about everything that I want to say…and I let it flow out of me like the very blood leaking from my lacerations.

Dad…I loved you, I really truly did. But even though I loved you, I hated you; oh I fucking just _hated _you. I needed you to be my father and you refused me the natural right that I was supposed to be born with. Instead of being there for me, you let me wander on my own, trapped inside my own dark mind. You never gave me the guidance that a true father was supposed to give. Come to think of it, you never even gave me the love that a true father was supposed to give. You drove a wedge between us and whenever I tried to sew it shut, you just ripped it right back open again, you stupid fuck.

Whether or not you'd like to admit it or not, you did this to me dad. You did this to me. You fucking asshole, I'll never forgive you for what you did to me. You see, some of these scars are from you. They were scars that you took from your own body and planted on mine. Every time I see them, I remember how they got there. I remember how you used to hit me when you came home from work. You would always look for a reason to kick my ass. I remember how you chased me into my own room and attacked me for the smallest things. I remember, yeah I fucking remember, how you used to go on for minutes and minutes and minutes; just hitting me until I stopped moving. You wouldn't be satisfied until you saw that I was nothing compared to you.

But let me tell you something right now. Listen well, wherever you are. You were a coward. That's right I said it, a coward. Instead of taking your anger out on all the people who put it there, you came home and took it out on an innocent five year old boy, your son at that. You had to feel important, you had to take control. Well you got it old man; you got that shit. Even when I grew older, you still made sure you had that control. You wouldn't let me step even an inch into having a mind of my own. Nothing was ever good enough for you. Getting a B+ on a difficult test led to "Why didn't you get this question right? How could you have made these mistakes?" Instead of saying 'good job, I'm proud' you always saw the negative. And all that negativity that you always searched for, it took a human form. His name is Peter Colón, Jr. Pessimism, negativity incarnate, that's me bitch. And you did it. I was afraid of you and you fed off that fear. How I fantasized countless numbers of times about my revenge against you. I wished so many times that I could take the blade from my arms and legs and glide it across your throat while you slept; let you know how it felt to regret my very being, and let you know my pain. But I didn't, because somehow you held the key to my family's happiness and without you, they would've fallen apart. Be thankful that they depended on you; it may be what prolonged your life for so many years.

Here's something else for you to ponder, wherever you are. You always loved my sister more than you loved me. You always let her off the hook for things that I would have to curl up in a ball and cry all night over. You'd keep silence between us but as soon as she came in the room, all of a sudden, there was nothing but happiness, glee, and all that other shit. But since my sister was my best friend until she was ripped away from me, I won't talk about this anymore. Same for my little brother, I won't put their names in there with your's anymore. You're not worthy of sympathy, you stupid fuck. You'll get none from me for what you used to put me through. Forgiveness? Haaaa that's funny. Who are you to ask for forgiveness? You could've said sorry all you want, but sorry doesn't take away my pain. Sorry doesn't make all my scars go away, sorry doesn't make you any more of a father to me than you were before.

Mom. I hope you can hear what I have to say about you now. You know, you were my mother, there's no way to replace that figure in my life. And that's exactly why I hold so much anger towards you. See with dad, I use the word hate. He's just 50 of me. And that's 50 that I'm willing to let go of. You are the other half, but there's so much more of you in me than that. I came from you; I was born from your body. We shared a bond that dad couldn't even begin to comprehend. But here's where you failed. You let him take you away from me. You allowed him to use his control over me and you allowed him to put it on you as well. You could've stood up to him and said no, but you never did. You were a coward too. You were the ultimate example of a human being without a mind of their own. In fact, I don't think you could've survived without somebody telling you what to do. Maybe that wasn't your fault entirely, but still you never took the steps to make yourself better.

You see, it was me who had to deal with that ugly side of you when nobody else was around. Just like dad, you took your anger out on me. And as you hit me, I cried. I cried because you were hurting me and breaking my trust, but I also cried because I felt sorry for you. As you hit me, I didn't see my mother. I saw a woman who'd been taken advantage of so many times in her life that she couldn't remember how to say no. I saw a victim, a woman in pain. I saw a woman internally wounded forever. No doctor could fix the wounds inflicted upon you, no doctor. That bond that I mentioned earlier, I felt your pain with you. Whenever you were hurt, I was hurt. Whenever you were sad, I was sad. But together, we could've conquered all the pain; you just never thought to help me help you. Why mom? Why did you have to leave me like this? I'm no child anymore, but I'm not afraid to call you mommy, even still after everything you'd put me through.

It's not fair…

Mom…dad…I say these things now, but know this. There is always a piece of me that will love you unconditionally; a side of me that would've never wanted to cause you harm, even if I wanted to so badly. You raised me with a burden. You embedded me with a permanent flaw. It lies deep within my DNA now, and there is no surgery, no operation that can remove it. I am a coward, just like you. Look at me on this cold ass floor, giving up. I am a coward, just like you. If I die now, I don't win. If I live now, I don't win. But at least if I live, I can pretend that I'm not a coward. I can show others that I'm not a coward. I can help others who are like me, who never had the fire to live, but instead had a fire to die. I can help save them. I can act brave and maybe inspire the weak. These scars, they will always be on my body. But I can choose right here and now…to not pass them on to anybody else.

I lay on the ground in a puddle of my own blood. The cold air brushes across my beaten body, as if it were taunting me right now….

Alright…I made my choice. I gather my strength and reach into my pocket, taking out my cell phone. Barely, and with the blood increasing around me, I dial the three digits that can 'save' me right now; the only three that can possibly undo all this physical harm that I inflicted upon myself….I can hear the ring…and then I receive my first answer to all my pleading for help tonight. This is my chance…my chance to change the past.

"Please help me…I need an ambulance."

**Author's Note:** _Just for the record, I do not encourage this kind of behavior. If any of you or someone you know feels like this, please listen to them and get them help. This is a very serious subject matter that shouldn't be taken lightly. I also wanted to note that yes, there are a number of contradictions within what he was thinking. I was trying to convey the feeling of being disoriented and confused, it was intentional._


	2. The Anniversary

**Author's Note:****_ This takes place a few months after the last entry. Peter now continues to struggle within himself, but he lives on to become a better person. This is a letter to friends that he writes around the time of the anniversary of his family's deaths._**

****Cherish your family and loved ones.

Because you never know when you won't have them. For some people, having love, support, and affection is a daily ritual. For others, it's a privilege, something they can have every now and then. A hug, a kiss, a shoulder to cry on; some people dream of having that back, and then wondering if they ever really had it at all. What I've learned is that everything is conditional, you have things for only a reason. Once you stop giving whatever it is you're giving, once you stop saying whatever it is you're saying, you lose that love and support. Some people can't give when there is nothing left to share, they can't say anything when there's nothing left to say. So for certain people, all they can do is imagine what it would be like to get that hug, that kiss, that shoulder to cry on.

You know, it really hurts to smile. It's hurts to act like everything is okay when I know it's not. Something is missing and I can't find it. But you see, people will eventually stop caring about helping you find those missing pieces and they will leave you in a second for the next best thing. So where does that leave me? Still out in the cold, searching for those fucking missing pieces. What's funny is that I don't even know what it is that I'm looking for. I'm so used to being cold that its only on special occasions that I remember to shiver.

I never thought that night when my mother told me goodbye that the hug she gave me was going to be my last from her. I never thought that kiss on the cheek I gave my sister before leaving for school would be the last I would give her. I never thought the laugh I shared with my brother years ago would be the last. It does hurt to smile and act like everything is okay. Because it is so fucking far from okay that even a blind man should be able to see it. I'm cut wide open and looking for anything to cover it up, someone to help me recover. But everyone walks past me. They don't respond to my calls for help, they don't even acknowledge the fact that I'm standing right there.

What I wouldn't give just to have another stupid fight with my brother and sister, or a petty disagreement with my mother. At least I'd know I was real, that I was feeling life itself inside me. I would at least hear their voices speaking to me, I would see them, I would have the privilege to be able to reach out and touch them. I'd prefer that over outdated photos any day.

I'm always cold, but today is one of those days where I remembered to shiver. I need warmth and unfortunately, there's none of it to be found. So the only thing I can do is offer an example of what not to become. Cherish the people in your life because you never know when they might be gone. You'll never know when they walk out the door and close it if they'll be opening it again later. So for now, I'll be cold, but tomorrow I'll forget about it again. I'll force that smile on my face, however painful it may be, and I'll continue to hide the wounds that everyone can see plainly on my face. But tomorrow, none of it will matter. It never really does.


End file.
